Le Rachat du Voleur
by Daydream1
Summary: After narrowly escaping arrest, a certain Cajun and his crew are forced to join up with the Xmen, but Gambit still has to answer to an old enemy... Between X2 and X3.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-men otherwise I'd be all rich and cool and stuff. Yep. (nods solemnly) ;o)

**Redemption**

Chapter One

The dull blue light from the computer screen cast an eerie glow on Jenkins's tired face. The rest of the cubicles in the rigid conformity of the workroom were dark since the clean-up crew had turned out all the lights when they left. Most people were at home, in their bedrooms, sleeping beside their spouses or listening to the annoying bathroom faucet leak in a continuous drip-drip-drip, but not Jenkins. His marriage had ended a year earlier and it had turned a good worker into the most diligent of all employees. He had enough overtime to satisfy himself and three other people but he still stayed at the office until twelve and one o'clock every night. There was not much for him to go home to; his son, Kelby, was in college and his seventeen-year-old daughter, June, would not have anything to do with him, choosing instead to live with her mother. The only thing he had left was the big screen plasma and a chess tournament that Dish Network was recording for him. Jenkins was planning on heading over to the pub across the street after finishing the files he was working on. At the pub, he would have a glass of Chardonnay, and then go home to watch the tournament.

As his fingers pecked out words onto the screen, Jenkins did not hear the ceiling tile being removed from above in the cubicle behind him. Two eyes smoldered out from the darkness as a face peered down from the hole, taking in the room carefully.

A gruff chuckle made Jenkins stiffen in his cheap rolling chair. He clutched the edge of his desk with one hand while the other still hovered over the keyboard as if determined to finish the sentence. His gaze traveled from the corner of his left eye to the corner of his right as his body held its frozen state. After a moment where he could not hear anything but the whir of the computer, Jenkins loosened his tie and returned to typing. These late nights were starting to get to him.

An unexpected rustling of papers shattered his high-strung nerves and made him jump up, knocking the chair backwards. His right hand jerked out and spilled a container of pens and pencils. Cursing, Jenkins got down on his knees and started to collect the Bic pens and yellow #2s.

"I don't think de situation calls for dat sorta talk, _mon ami_," said a low, masculine voice spiced with a Cajun accent. Jenkins gasped and looked up.

Leaning on the flimsy side of Jenkins' cubicle was a tall man nearly hidden by the shadows. A ratty brown duster was draped over his rugged, muscular frame; underneath the duster, he was wearing a black, form-fitting outfit with a brown leather belt. He grinned down at Jenkins who scurried back in horror at the sight of the man's face. His eyes…the black pupils were ringed with fiery red that took up the space of what should have been the irises and whites. They glowed and made the man look demonically handsome, or so a woman would have thought. Jenkins just thought he was some sort of hell thing possibly come to suck the very soul from his body for cheating on his wife. Hadn't the divorce been enough of a punishment? He gaped at the man, unable to call any words into his mouth.

"Now see, ain't dat better? No more cussin' about spilled office supplies," said the demon, waving a finger in front of his face like a reprimanding mother. He had on black gloves that were missing the index and pinkie fingers. Walking past Jenkins, he bent down to look at the computer screen. He clucked his tongue against the top of his mouth in displeasure.

"You do dis all day? If my life was dis boring, I think I would've killed myself by now." The demon grinned again, a monstrous combination of charm and dangerous intrigue. "Good thing it isn't 'cause I don't know what de world would do wit'out Gambit in it."

Gambit, as the demon had called himself, studied the computer for a minute then looked around at the rest of the cubicles. For the moment it seemed as if he had forgotten about Jenkins. Pausing, he reached up and touched something near his ear. He talked to the air with a conversational attitude that disconcerted Jenkins further.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin', Byte, gimme a second." He started walking around Jenkins' cubicle, inspecting the sparse decorations. Picking up a photo of Jenkins children, he nodded, the edge of his mouth going up in a quirk. "I know what I'm doin', yo' don't gotta tell me all over again." He put the picture down, shaking his head as he started addressing another invisible entity. "Rumor, yo' dere? Good, listen up, _petite_, yo' finish up quick and bring de car around front, would ya?" He paused as if waiting for a reply then smirked. "Dat's Gambit's girl," he said with pride before suddenly scowling. "I'm goin' to, Byte," he snapped, "Damn, yo' makin' it sound like I've never done dis before."

He moved over to the desk and started typing on the keyboard, earning him a shaky glare from Jenkins. That computer was the cornerstone of Jenkins' job; without it, there wasn't much left for him to do with his life. Messing with it was low, even for a demon, so Jenkins decided the man must have been a human with odd contact lenses. Pulling a zipdrive from a pocket in his duster, Gambit shoved it into the computer and started downloading information into the desktop.

"H-hey, stop that," stuttered Jenkins, still on the floor. Where was security when you needed them? Were they just eating donuts in their headquarters again? Why hadn't they come to get this guy?

"Sorry, _mon ami_," Gambit said without looking away from the computer screen, "but you got your job and I got mine. And dis happens t'be part of my job." The computer sounded off a cheerful ding as the zipdrive finished downloading. Gambit shoved his shaggy brown hair back as it started to fall in his face. "I wish all computers were dat fast. Make my life easier." He turned around, pocked the zipdrive, and walked out of the office, his duster flowing out behind him.

Jenkins stared after him, wondering if it had all been real or he had just fallen asleep and dreamed it all. Not likely since the computer was now flashing the Jolly Roger flag. Also, the theme from Jaws was floating out of the speakers, oddly loud in the quiet of the office.

"Yo' might be wantin' to get up," Gambit's voice called back to Jenkins, dispelling the notions of a fantasy. "You're gonna want to be outta here before dat computer does a Hiroshima on dis place."

Jenkins scrambled up from the floor. As if it could help anything, he reached over and turned the speakers off, silencing the increasingly noisy dun-dun's. Frantically grabbing up some of his papers and his company-issued messenger bag, Jenkins scuttled out the opening in the cubicle.

Gambit was almost to the door leading to the stairwell, forcing Jenkins into a run to catch up with him. Jenkins found out that he was much shorter than the Cajun and if he hadn't been so preoccupied, he might have been bitter about it.

"What did y-y-you do?" asked Jenkins, hating how afraid he sounded. Gambit stole into the stairwell, the metal door squealing in protest to being opened. He ignored Jenkins' question as he took the stairs two at a time, forcing the office worker to keep a pace that was unnaturally fast for him. "Come on, it is my computer…" Jenkins half-pleaded. His blood pressure was going to go through the roof.

"Not for much longer, it isn't," said Gambit with an amused snort. "I don't know 'xactly what all's in dat virus, but Byte said something 'bout it melting the mainframe down. Then yo' computer is gonna explode."

"Explode?" Jenkins' voice squeaked, his watery blue eyes popping forward in a disgusting bulge.

"Yeah, explode. It should take out de entire floor too so yo' won't be needin' to come into work for a while," Gambit explained, tossing an unconcerned look back at Jenkins. "Think of it as an extended holiday. Go to Hawaii or somethan'." That grin flashed in the shadows with a deceptive friendliness. "I always heard dat it was a nice place."

Jenkins felt nauseous as they slipped out of the side door and into the alley beside the office building. Gambit stayed back near the door while Jenkins walked out into the alley, stumbling over some debris. Which way was the pub again? He needed more than a Chardonnay; tonight was a clarion call to a Bud, maybe two. Or a dozen.

While Jenkins leaned against the far wall, his head pressed against the steel, Gambit reached up and touched the camera mounted over the door. A red glow crackled around the camera as Gambit manipulated its kinetic energy, charging it. As he removed his hand, he briefly stepped back inside the doorway, using it as a shield. With a nice blast, the camera blew up, efficiently turning off the recording. The fragments from the camera hit the dim light that glowed above the doorway, shattering the bulb.

Jenkins yelped as the camera exploded and dropped all of his papers to throw his arms over his head. Cowering, he glanced up in time to see a shadowy Gambit inspecting the camera. Jenkins straightened, realizing the truth. The man wasn't a demon or a human at all; he was one of those damned mutants with those whacked out powers. Now that the mutant had put out the only light, the alley was like the inside of a closet but the dark did not slow Gambit down. He was sliding through the alley like ink across a page, blending in with the night.

A red convertible Mustang pulled up at the opening of the alley. Its bright headlights made Jenkins shade his eyes as Gambit was silhouetted in white. Jenkins just stood there for a moment before clambering through his bag, trying to find his cellphone. The cops! He had to call the cops.

"Gambit, are you lacking both an adequate CPU and a chronometer?" another man's voice growled. He was sitting in the back seat of the convertible holding a laptop. "Get in!" he demanded and banged his hand against the side of the cherry-colored car.

"Don't be scratchin' the paint, Byte," said Gambit as he opened up the door to get inside. His lean body folded up gracefully into the seat. "We gotta sell dis one."

"But dis is a _Mustang_," a girl, the driver, said as if a Mustang was some sacred religious object. "Can we keep it for a couple days, at least? Please, Gambit?" Jenkins couldn't see her because of the headlights but she had the same recognizable accent as Gambit.

"We'll talk about it later, _petite_," Gambit replied, obviously trying to momentarily appease her.

"You always say dat…"

Jenkins had found his cellphone but he kept losing his grip on it because his hands were so sweaty. This was all surreal…

After closing the Mustang's door, Gambit touched two fingers to his head in a cocky, lopsided salute.

"Nice meetin' yo', _mon ami,_" Gambit said to Jenkins right before the Mustang backed away with a tire-squealing exit. Gambit let out a curse as he fell against the dashboard. Jenkins ran out of the alley and watched the sports car peel around a corner, precariously going up on two wheels.

With a long sigh, Jenkins gave up and let the cellphone stay where it was. It was pointless to call the police and explain to them that a Cajun mutant and his two friends had infiltrated his office and downloaded a virus onto his computer so it would blow up for no apparent reason except they seemed to get a kick out of it all. Jenkins stuck his hands in his pockets and walked across the street, heading for the pub. Might as well get rip-roaring drunk before his pay checks stopped coming.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: If I owned X-men, do you think I'd be writing fanfiction instead of novels? I think not. :o) Gambit belongs to Marvel along with the rest of the X-men, but Rumor, Gigabyte, and my other new character are mine. They can be borrowed though, if you like them.

Chapter Two

Mid-winter New York City was cold and dank as the Mustang purred down the streets, sliding over oily puddles and slinking around corners. A bum lifted his head as the snappy red car drove past his bus-stop bench, 'Lady Marmalade' from the Moulin Rouge soundtrack rapping out from the CD-player. As the Mustang passed by, he put his head back on his chest and went back to dreaming about how life was before Vietnam.

In the car, Rumor, also known as Desiree, bobbed her head along with the song, her purple-glossed lips mouthing the words. Her fingers were wrapped loosely around the steering wheel and she was leaning against the door in a posture of relaxation. In the passenger seat, Gambit, an easy smile on his face, was fingering the flashdrive he had used back on Jenkin's computer. He grinned at Rumor before pocketing the flashdrive in the lapel of his duster.

"I think dat went well," he said, putting his arms behind his hand and leaning back in his chair. "Got de files and destroyed the system, no problem." He let out a surprised shout as the seat suddenly fell backwards and he was looking up into Gigabyte's annoyed face.

"I think you're insane," the blond snapped seriously, pushing his steel-framed glasses up on his nose. "Seriously, Remy, you're reckless and you're going to get us all caught one day."

To Gambit, whose real name happened to be Remy, Byte's scowl was laughable in the face of victory. He pushed the technologically-inclined mutant's hand off the lever and righted his seat. "Den I'll jus' get us out again. I've done it before, Matt. Ain't nothin' gonna keep de Prince o' Thieves and his merry men-"

"An' women," cut in Desiree, her lilac-iris eyes glancing over at Gambit. He sighed and clapped his hands on his knees in amused surrender.

"Fine. And his merry _persons_ in any jail." Gambit smirked tauntingly at Byte through the mirror. "If you're so afraid of being caught, why don't you just head on back to Boston? Nothin' stopping yo'."

"Pshh, like I could make it all the way back," grumbled Gigabyte. He pulled his legs up in the seat and put his laptop on his knees. It dinged merrily as he pressed the power button. "There's probably cops staked out all around my house, diligently awaiting the return of the master hacker."

"Yo' parents house, you mean," said Rumor, a smile tickling the corner of her mouth in to turning upwards. Byte glared murderously at her while Gambit gave a satisfied chuckle. Rumor continued, her tone dry but biting. "Face it, Matt, yo' ain't got nowhere to go but back to de 'partment wit' us lest yo' wanna walk all de way to momma's place."

"Shut up, Rumor," growled Byte, his eyes boring into the side of the girl's face. "At least I have somewhere to go."

Gambit frowned and turned his head towards the backseat so Byte could get the full effect of the expression. Byte did not look up from the computer screen. "Why yo' acting like someone stuck a gator up yo' ass?"

"Cause, pardon the pun, you just about blew any cover we had to smithereens back there, Gambit, with your little meet-the-locals stunt!" shouted Byte, flinging his hands into the air with exasperation. He shook his blond head curtly and flopped sulkily into the backseat. "You know, whatever, it doesn't matter. We're done, it's done, let's just go back to the apartment."

They rode in silence for a while. Any triumphant happiness that had been there before had been subdued by Gigabyte's negativity. Rumor quietly hummed along with the Moulin Rouge soundtrack as she drove down the street towards their hideout. She was taking a curved route, one meant to confuse anyone that might be following them, but as far she could tell, no one was tracking the Mustang. She was careful anyways, remembering past mistakes. Red and expensive was never the way to go if you were doing a covert mission but the Mustang had just been sitting on the side of the street, begging to be driven. How could the best hot-wiring artist out of New Orleans possibly deny it, especially when it was her favorite kind of car?

They pulled into the alleyway near a shady Lower Manhattan apartment complex. Gambit jumped out of the front seat, leaving Byte to awkwardly clamber over the side. Scowling ferociously, the technical mutant huffed as he pulled his laptop bag out after him. Rumor opened the door and reluctantly stepped out of her new cherry-red baby. She ran her fingers down the side of the gorgeous car as she walked towards the apartment entrance. As she did so, the car seemed to melt away, disappearing like a vapor in the air. Actually, Desiree had merely put an illusioned cover over it, one that tricked the observer into believing that there was nothing there but the wall. If it was an especially weak mind, the person could even bump up against the car and still think it was not there. The power of illusion was Desiree's mutant gift along with a reinforcement of mild telekinetic power. The deceptions were what made her an excellent thief while the telekinesis made her an admirable force in a fight.

"_Mon petite_, yo' gonna sit out here wit' dat car all night? I promise dat I'll be better company," Gambit called from the alley opening, leaning on his metal telescopic bo staff that he had extended to half its full-length. As she raced up to him, he draped one arm around her shoulders affectionately. Even at seventeen, she was tiny compared to his six foot two frame, only coming up to his chest. Though there was no blood between them, Desiree was Remy's closest family and he treated her like a mix between a little sister and a daughter. "'Sides," he said, pulling her close and rubbing her arm as they walked, "It be as cold as hell froze over out here. I don't know how dey don't go walkin' 'round like Yankee popsicles all Win'er up here." He grinned then sucked in his cheeks and widened his eyes as if to mimic a frozen Northerner.

"Remy!" Desiree laughed, pulling away to sock him it the arm, "Don't y'know dat stereotyping is bad?"

"Oh, sorry, Desi, I forgot dat you were such an _ange innocent_." He grinned at her and tugged at the strict light brown braid that snaked down past her shoulders.

"_Vous êtes horrible_," she retorted, poking him in the chest then laying her head against him. When they got to the front door, they found out that Matt hadn't left the door open so Remy had to fish the keys out of his duster. Desiree leaped on her chance while Remy was still in an okay mood. "Hey, Remy?"

"Hmm?" he asked as his fingers wrapped around the key. Desiree teetered back on her heels like a kid, her eyes widening into a puppy-dog pout. Remy could tell where that familiar face was going and he held up a gloved hand. "Aw, naw, _petite_, don't start on de car. Y'know we can't keep it, it's stolen property."

"But Remy-"

"Desiree, don't. Remy be too tired to argue with yo'." He unlocked the building door and stepped back, motioning her to step inside first.

"Yo' not that tired!" She started to make a case for herself. "We could too keep it. We can get it a new paint job an' a registration and everyt'ing and nobody would know. We've done it before." Her lilac eyes bored into him as she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot on the floor. Remy sighed and wiped at his face.

"Look, we've been over dis, I swear I'll get you de car of yo' dreams someday." Remy waved his arms around as if motioning to a warehouse full of cars. "Any style, any year, whatever. Just not t'day, okay?"

"Fine," whispered Desiree after a moment's hesitation, her gaze trained on the ground. Yet another car had slipped through her fingers and she was left with yet another promise. Whipping away from him, she dashed into the apartment complex. Shaking his head and annoyed at female teenage girl hormones, he followed her up the stairs.

Remy reached their apartment floor only to hear two female voices chattering back and forth. Desiree was obviously telling the team's resident medic, Carrie Rand, all about the night's mission. The older girl had the ability to heal any flesh wound and mend bones but illness was beyond her help. Still, she was a nice addition since the team had a tendency to get into physical trouble.

The two bedroom, one bath apartment was tiny and rather rundown but it was comfortable thanks to the feminine efforts of Carrie and Desiree. Remy and Matt did not really care what the apartment looked like since it was just a temporary base of operations, but it seemed to make the girls happier. Carrie's country style was present in landscape paintings of farms and the red and white-checkered tablecloth over the kitchen table where the she was now sitting. Desiree was laying on the couch and Matt had disappeared into one of the bedrooms. A suspicious expression spreading across her face, Carrie glanced over at Remy as he entered the room.

"Are you bleeding anywhere, Cajun?" she asked, her nurse's eye giving him the regular once over. Remy shook his head and made an offended face.

"Since when does Gambit get beaten up, eh?" he asked but shed his duster to make her happy. Carrie made a motion for him to turn around in a circle, an action that he grudgingly performed. "I'm a pretty good scrapper, _non_, Desi?" He tossed the question to the girl who was lounging belly-down on the couch, watching the other two with her head held in her upturned, cupped hands.

"Usually," she replied flippantly, kicking her legs out as she turned over on her back. "'Course, dere was dat time back in San Francisco when yo' came back from the Mendelson Labs dis close," she held her pointer finger and thumb a half-inch apart, "t' going six feet under."

Remy made a face as Desiree stood up from the couch and sashayed over to the refrigerator. "Dat was once, _petite_…"

"This isn't sounding good for your case, Remy," said Carrie, her dark green eyes dancing with humor. Remy gave her a bereaved look.

"Dat's cause you're only gettin' her distorted version, _chere_."

"An' den back when yo' were fifteen, yo' got y'self nearly murdered by de Assassins Guild," Desiree continued cheerfully as she fished the half-empty milk cartoon out of the fridge. "An' last year, back in August, when dose hyped-up, mutate security guards tried to use yo' as an _l'humain frappe le sac_."

Carrie chuckled as Remy spluttered, trying to defend himself against the verbal onslaught. Giving up, he ran his fingers through his thick brown hair and slumped into one of the wooden table chairs. "Yo' s'posed to be on my side, _petite_," he complained, resting his elbow on the table and resting his cheek on his hand. She grinned as she passed by with her glass of milk.

"Aw, Remy, you're so cute when you're sulky," she joked as she retreated gracefully to the armchair. She curled up in the patched up piece of furniture and reached over to the coffee table. "Hey, Carrie, where's my magazine?" she asked after fruitlessly searching the nearby area.

"Shelf," supplied Carrie before turning back to Remy who was about to fill her in on his end of the mission. Desiree settled her gaze on the shabby shelf on the over side of the room. A tattered edition of Hot Rods wobbled briefly before levitating away from the other knick-knacks on the shelf. It obligingly floated over to the young mutant who snatched it out of the air and began to read hungrily.

"I don't know if I'll ever get used to that," said Carrie, shaking her head slowly. Remy leaned back in his chair, his red-on-black eyes briefly lighting on Desiree.

"Took me a while, too, _chere_," he said sympathetically. He could remember when Desiree's powers first manifested; he had spent days trying to figure out what exactly was reality and what wasn't while Desiree, in a fit of near insanity, sent things flying about the room perilously close to his head. It had been a dark time in their lives, one that Remy tried hard not to dwell on. His own powers had been traumatizing enough, especially when he could kinetically charge both non-organic and organic things. Life was easier now that he was limited to the non-organic; he did not have to worry so much about accidentally blowing up one of his loved ones.

"So, Matt told me, in more colorful words, that you had a run-in with one of the In-com employees," Carrie said, the quirk at the edge of her mouth betraying her passive tone.

"More like he terrorized him," said Matt, otherwise known as Gigabyte, as he appeared in the doorway of one of the bedrooms. He folded his arms across his thin chest. "He thinks he's completely invincible, Carrie, I swear he does." The moody young man crossed the room and flopped down on the couch. Desiree sneaked an eyebrow-raised peek at him over her magazine. He sent her a nasty glare that made her roll her lilac eyes and go back to reading.

"Don't be immature," Carrie scolded, a stern look overtaking her features. "You aren't five anymore, so stop acting like it." When Remy smirked, she pointed a rebuking finger at him. "And you, you should be more careful, Cajun."

"He's exaggeratin', he always does," said Remy. He grabbed at a packet of playing cards that was on the table and started thumbing through the deck. Laying down a game of solitaire, he took on an aloof air. "He's just mad 'cause he didn't get to see the computer go boom from his virus."

"Am not!" cried Matt, nearly coming off the couch. When Carrie gave him a reproving glance, he settled for glaring. "I hope someone decks you, Remy."

"Wouldn't be the first time," said Desiree without looking up from her magazine.

"Yo' in a mood t'night, _petite_," Remy said darkly. His nimble fingers pulled the Queen of Spades from the game and laid it on the table. "Just cause we ain't keepin' yo' Mustang don't mean I need a beating."

"Didn't say you needed one. You might get one, anyways, though."

"Desi, you really should go change out of your uniform," said Carrie in a motherly tone, soothing any upcoming sibling fighting. "I need to wash it." Though she was only twenty-six, three years older than Remy, Carrie seemed to fit the parental type perfectly. She got up to fix herself and Remy some coffee.

"_D'accord,__ Mère Poule_," replied Desiree, giving Carrie a flash of a grin before flitting off into the girls' bedroom. Carrie grimaced and waved the empty coffee pot after her.

"Get back here! I am not a mother hen!" One hand on her hip and the other grasping the coffee pot, she turned back to Remy and Matt. "I'm not, am I?" Her eyes flashed dangerously.

"Oh, no, _chere,_ yo' much too _magnifique_ for that," Remy said, giving her a dashing smile and sending her an emphatic wave of reassurance. Sometimes having low-level empathy came in handy, especially when you had two moody women about. And women say men are complicated…

_**TBC…**_

**Translations from French:**

_Mon petite-_ my little; a term of affection

_Ange innocent-_ innocent angel

_Vous êtes horrible- _You are horrible

_Non-_ No

_Chere- _Dear; term of affection

_l'humain frappe le sac-_ human punching bag

_D'accord, Mère Poule_- Alright/Agreed, Mother Hen

_Magnifique-_ gorgeous


End file.
